


paperbags are no secret

by orphan_account



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-03
Updated: 2010-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:30:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	paperbags are no secret

If they weren't figure skaters, they would probably be - investment managers or maybe communications directors or, or music editors. Jeremy'd like to be a music editor. He's been thinking about what to do when his skating career is over. He figures it's one of those things every figure skater ponders in lost moments. He can't be a gymnast anymore, after all. Not that he'd ever have made a good gymnast. But he knows he can be anything he sets his mind to.

He can be National Champion.

"You _are_ ," Charlie mutters into his belly and licks over his navel. He seems to be close to giggles, the corners of his mouth turning up.

"Oh," Jeremy smiles back and nods. Then he throws his head back and gasps, mouth open, when Charlie's lips close over the head of his cock while his thumb digs into the tattoo on Jeremy's hip.

 

They have sex a second time that night, a few hours later, a glance at the clock showing it's just past 5am. They went to sleep late, there was a celebration, of course. Charlie pushes Jeremy's knee to his chest, lying down above him, his body hard and heavy and presses their chests close as their tongues slide together. Jeremy kisses back hungrily and enjoys the press, the feeling of Charlie slipping in, the burn before he settles and then starts rocking forward, sweaty, taking deep breaths.

"Sex - sex is so m-much work," he complains in between uneven intakes of air, and adds, "you'd think. We wouldn't - ah. We wouldn't want _more_ work."

Charlie above him stutters to a halt, deep inside and huge-eyed. He looks this close to coming. Opens his mouth, then breaks out in a laugh. "Who's doing all the work here?" he asks, mock-outraged.

Jeremy smiles sweetly. "That's because I'm National Champion."

Charlie kisses him and whispers into his ear, "So am I."

 

~*~

 

Jeremy doesn't think his gala performance was so bad, really.

No, okay, fine, it was a _disaster_ , but he can live with that. He doesn't think anyone really minded. Except Tom maybe, but Tom wants perfection 120% of the time, and - well. Yes, Jeremy could give it, but he's walking with his head in the clouds and a feeling of elation in his chest and a sore ass and every single one of those is not very conductive to a perfect skate.

Charlie and Meryl, of course, were spotless and beautiful, almost otherworldly.

After the show-ending, when they make their way to the locker rooms, Charlie puts his forehead to Jeremy's temple and nuzzles his cheek. "You were _hilariously_ bad out there," he teases.

"Shut up," Jeremy snorts and hits his arm. "It's all your fault, really."

" _Really_?" Charlie asks, heat burning in his eyes. "And how would that have happened?"

Jeremy wants Charlie to touch him everywhere, but neither of them is brave enough to do more than looks in public, and they can't go somewhere because they both have planes to catch.

"I -" he swallows, feeling nervous suddenly. The other skaters have all passed them, vanished through the locker room doors, boys on the left, girls on the right, and - Charlie's still watching him, and there's a half-move like he wants to put his hand on Jeremy's hip. "I really like you."

And that was not what he wanted to say, feels his cheeks burn. He never normally says stuff like this. Oh, who is he kidding, he blurts stuff like this all the time except not this, because obviously, he doesn't - he hardly ever _likes_ people.

Charlie's smile is bright and sweet and he tilts his head to the side, thumb brushing Jeremy's nose before he steps away. "You should come with me," he says.

"Oh," Jeremy says and hears nothing but ringing in his ears. "Uhm. What?"

Charlie's grin widens. "I - there's a car. I own. A car. I have the keys - I mean. I came with my car and Meryl will want to take the plane because she's tired and she has - but. It's just like, four hours and I'm not that tired and it would be like a road trip, except we'd be going home."

"Home," Jeremy repeats like he's maybe mentally deficient, and he knows he sounds like a total idiot, but he can't help but blink. "Wait, what?"

"My apartment is great," Charlie tells him. "Uhm. Room. I guess."

Jeremy feels his eyebrows climb to his hairline. "You - room? Are you kidding me, it's - I have to - and competitions -"

"But, on the plus side, I have all the Lost DVDs and I'm great in bed!" Charlie points out, blushing.

"Don't you have roommates?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not driving with you to an - apartment filled with roommates to watch Lost DVDs and sleep with you," Jeremy says, nodding his head.

Charlie has a beautiful, only slightly frozen-over Ford Escape. Thirty minutes and a few phone calls later, Jeremy is driving to an apartment filled with roommates to watch Lost DVDs and sleep with Charlie. He tells himself it's a win-win situation and tries not to bitch that the heater isn't working properly. It's like the perfect first date.

 

~*~

 

"It's just for, like, a day," Jeremy tells him warily as they make their way up the stairs. He only tucked a few shirts and underwear into a backpack, with his mother trying to pat his cheek, saying things like 'take your time, sweetie, you deserve it, have fun - just be safe, okay?' - which, okay, no. Really, no.

The door to the apartment is off the latch, which doesn't bother Charlie at all - "The boys are home, aren't they?" - and one step inside, Jeremy wants nothing more than to be outside again. And it's _cold_ outside.

"National Champion's home, woohoo!" someone calls out when Charlie's spotted, and wolfwhistles and congratulations fly around and - he cannot actually believe there are four guys standing around, acting like Charlie went on a World Tour and hasn't been home in months. "How's Meryl?" one of the boy asks, ducking his head, and Charlie laughs and says, "Still too good for you, mate," but accepts the hug anyway, and they snicker and mock-punch and then someone realizes Jeremy's still standing in the doorway, looking lost, and silence falls.

"Uhm," Jeremy says, feeling his face heat up. "Hi."

"Oh god, Charlie brought his girlfriend home," the far-right guy crows and there's a round of laughs and some more snickers, and Jeremy wants to vanish into the floor or merge with a wall and Charlie's not saying anything, accepting the friendly ribbing, until far-left guy mocks, "Maybe we should move out, guys, and leave the princess to her -" glance at Charlie's groin "- pea."

That makes Charlie roll his eyes. "You are so lame. How about you give us safe passage to my room instead?"

"We were about to leave anyway," the boy shrugs, pressing himself to the wall as they pass, Jeremy still flushing under the gazes that size him up. "Party at the Blind Pig."

"Right," Charlie says. "Have fun then."

And then they're indeed safe in Charlie's room and Jeremy breathes out and lets his backpack fall to the floor. He feels like he should be furious, but he can't work up the energy.

"Sorry about that," Charlie says. "They're always like that, don't worry about it, it's just the way they greet people."

"Right." Jeremy closes his eyes for a second before opening them again, taking in the walls full of shelves, stacked with books and cds and dvds and random crap, photographs hanging on the walls, a bed. A bed. Bed sounds great, Jeremy thinks and he figures the reception was impolite enough for him to be a little impolite on his own, so he just crashes down on it and buries his face in the pillow. "Mhpf," he says.

Charlie starts laughing. "I'll go order some food, okay?"

Jeremy doesn't care.

 

~*~

 

He starts caring when Charlie calls him for sushi an hour or two later. The apartment is deserted; the roommates will stay out deep into the night, Charlie promises when Jeremy rubs the sand out of his eyes and sits down in the kitchen at the table.

"This is tasty," he comments, sticking some into his mouth, and protests when Charlie grabs his wrist to drag him towards the common room space with its big TV.

"Just don't get any on the couch," Charlie smirks.

The empty plates end up on the little TV table, and they don't get anything on the couch, but that's only because Jeremy swallows and they fall off it afterwards where Charlie finishes him off with his strong, slightly calloused hand rubbing up and down his cock.

 

~*~

 

I can be anything, he tells himself before the short program at 4CC, I can be totally anything and win here, but Patrick's better and so are three other people, in the end. He tries not to be sad.

The funny thing is, it's almost like Charlie expects him to be jealous. He isn't. He's okay with Charlie winning. It's a different competition altogether and he really, he _likes_ Charlie. He's not going to be an idiot and repeat that, though, because it was embarrassing enough the last time. Also, he doesn't want to be Charlie's girlfriend.

He manages to blurt that out when Charlie comes to his hotel room that evening, kissing him against the doorframe.

"What?" Charlie asks, blinking, and kisses him again. His thumb's under Jeremy's t-shirt, rubbing away at the tattoo again.

"You like it?" Jeremy asks, to be sure.

"Uh - what?"

Jeremy slips his shirt up a bit and smiles. "It's - it's really old. I don't even remember how much it hurt."

Charlie kisses him and pushes him into the room, door closing behind them with a click, and helps him on the bed, helps him between his legs and gives very appreciative moans when Jeremy pushes inside, first with his fingers and then with his cock, fucking him fast and hard and oh so good.

Maybe, Jeremy figures afterwards, Charlie thought it was a gender identity thing, or - or a sexuality thing or - or just another strange issue. He slaps his hand over his eyes and groans at himself for being such an idiot. He really does have issues. Communication issues.

 

~*~

 

"You are _such_ an idiot," Meryl tells Charlie the next morning as they are on their way down the stairs towards the rink, possibly to get some practice for the gala. Jeremy doesn't even mean to listen in, but he can hardly yell that he's walking behind them, and especially when he doesn't even know it's about him.

He's also curious because maybe it is about him.

"I'm not," Charlie protests, and he could maybe be blushing, but he's a bit too far away and the stairs take another turn.

Jeremy can hear in Meryl's voice that she's rolling her eyes. He grins. Then he stops grinning, because she says, "He obviously wanted you to say 'no, you're my boyfriend'. You - you _fail_."

Charlie laughs, sheepish. "I've never failed a test in my life."

Everyone listening knows it's a lie the size of Canada.

 

~*~

 

He doesn't hear from Charlie for a month. He doesn't even tell himself he had seen it coming, because he hadn't.

"I can't believe this is happening to me," he tells Ryan during practice. He's pretty sure Ryan has no idea who he's talking about, but Ryan just rolls his eyes and says, "You'll see him at Worlds, just punch him in the face. Do it before the Original. I would _love_ to see him skate to 'Happy Feet' with a black eye."

And okay, maybe Jeremy's slightly oblivious and very obvious at the same time.

 

~*~

 

"I can be anything I want, I can be anything I want, I can be anything I want," he mutters to himself on the way from the airport to the hotel, and then while he waits for the receptionist to get them the key to their room. He's rooming with Brandon. He actually likes Brandon a lot, because he's quiet and spends most of his time fiddling with his iPod, and he has a repertoire of jokes on the backburner, courtesy of his little brother who, Brandon says, can use all the laughter he can get.

"What do you want to be?" Brandon asks, suddenly, eyes sparkling with mirth, because he's not nervous at all, made of steel that he is (Jeremy hates him for that).

"A balloon pilot," Jeremy says and grins back.

"Good choice," Brandon nods in approval.

 

~*~

 

Jeremy really wants to be World Champion, but failing that, being Charlie White's boyfriend would do. He's not going to make a huge scene out of the fact that Charlie didn't bother to get in touch with him for four fucking weeks and then some, because he's not a drama queen.

Then again, it really kind of hurts, so he ignores Charlie completely after morning practice, even when Charlie makes it clear he wants to talk.

It's a pity Charlie knows his name and finding out his hotel room number is so easy. Jeremy thinks he should have checked in under a pseudonym. Tom would have been game.

"Oh," Brandon says when Jeremy opens the door to find Charlie standing there. He hops off his bed. "I'm just gonna..." and waves his hand as he takes off.

He's a world of unhelpful, sometimes.

Charlie kisses him.

"You do not get to do that," Jeremy protests and doesn't quite manage to push at his chest.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"What?"

"You're confusing me."

"You're the confused one?"

Jeremy stares at him. "You - you lured me into your bed under false pretenses!" he accuses, corner of his mouth twitching up.

"And which ones would that be?" Charlie falls in, right there, faces inches apart.

"Great sex and lady-treatment!"

Charlie manages to stay serious just so. "Which one did you find lacking?"

Jeremy lifts one shoulder. "You pick whichever will make you feel better."

"You're insane."

"I just wanted to get laid," Jeremy sighs.

"You did get laid, if I remember right."

"I also got abducted into a apartment full of germs and then unceremoniously dropped like a hot potato."

Charlie blinks.

Jeremy puts his hands on his hips.

"You shouldn't do that," Charlie says.

"What?"

"That stance. It makes me want to fuck you silly."

Jeremy cocks his head, grinning. "What's the hold-up?"

 

~*~

 

Charlie is humming something under his breath. He's caressing the skin covering Jeremy's collarbone with his fingers, breath hot against his chin, and humming something, and it's infuriating because Jeremy is sure he knows the song but he can't quite place it, like a fly buzzing that he can't get rid of.

"We are so dead," he says to break the silence.

"Are there contract killers? Do you want me to protect you?"

"Why, are you bulletproof? Can you escape the wrath that is Tom Zakrajsek angrier than a hurricane - and escape me with you, while we're at it?"

"I'm - not sure," Charlie admits. "It would probably help if we didn't mention this one."

Jeremy sighs.

"I'm sorry for not calling," Charlie finally says.

"It's fine. I kinda saw it coming."

"You did not."

"No, I did not, but I like telling myself that I did."

Charlie snorts. "You are the craziest person I have ever met."

"You know how to compliment a girl," Jeremy bats his eyelashes at him. "Tell me what else you love about me."

Charlie kisses his neck. "That you're easy."

"Hey!"

"I'm kidding. Do you want me to fuck you again?"

Jeremy flushes. "Shut up."

"So. Easy." Charlie snickers.

 

~*~

 

An hour later, they're in the showers, and Charlie's washing the sweat off Jeremy's body with soap, crouching a little. He says, "I told the guys."

"What?" Jeremy goes for the shampoo and starts on Charlie's hair. Charlie loves that he hasn't mentioned the hair once. Everyone else does. It gets old quickly.

"I told the guys," he shrugs. "That, you know. That you're not my girlfriend."

"Oh." Jeremy blinks. "It's fine. It was just stupid boy-talk."

"No, I mean." Charlie straightens and it's funny, they're exactly the same height, can look into each other's eyes, and Charlie presses their foreheads together. "I told them you're my boyfriend."

"Oh." Jeremy feels his stomach plummet.

"I hope that's fine," Charlie says timidly.

"Yeah - I mean. Yes. Yes, I - I like that."

It's hilarious - they're showering together, and shampoo is dripping into his eyes, making them burn, and Jeremy's skin is soapy against his own, and they're still very awkward about this. Charlie thinks there is a reason he doesn't do this often.

"We should wash up and go threaten Brandon, now," he proposes to lighten the mood.

Jeremy grins. "Yeah, you might want to hold off on that, he's the contract killer I was talking about."

"Well, shoot."

"Yeah. We'll have to hope he keeps a good secret."

"Does he take bribes?"

Jeremy tilts his head. "He doesn't, but I might."

"Mh-mh," Charlie laughs, hand making its way up his back, planes of smooth skin. "I'll take my chances with you, then."

It'll turn out better for everyone involved, he has a feeling. He likes the feeling a lot.

 

~*~  
The end.


End file.
